


Independent Woman

by ruric



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: Written for juliet316's 2010 prompt: BtVS/Ats, Faith, She can kill a guy in ten seconds flat, but she can't even toast her bread without burning it.
Kudos: 1
Collections: fic_promptly Fills 2010





	Independent Woman

She's been looking after herself since she was fourteen. 

She can boost a car in under a minute, pick most locks in under two, can hustle at pool or poker, and walk away leaving the marks charmed rather than angry, if she wants to. She knows half a dozen people who can get her fake IDs and her little black book lives in her head, because she long ago learned that you don't write that kind of information down anywhere. The numbers in her brain can get her killed, but they can also keep her alive.

Her network of contacts - enviable for someone her age - has been established using a combination of threats, bribery, flattery, and whatever else she has to do to get by.

She can kill a guy or girl in ten seconds flat – doesn't matter whether they're armed or unarmed. She knows a dozen ways to take someone down hard and fast and many more ways to make it slow and interesting. People have come at her with knives, guns, nunchucks, swords and there was also the idiot with a flamethrower, though she did come out of that skirmish a little bit singed around the edges.

"God damn it," she waves the tea towel in front of her face, takes a half dozen steps across the room and pushes the window open. She sticks her head out and sucks in a long breath wafting the smoke out past her stinging eyes and coughs.

Ducking back inside she pulls open the oven, a takes a step back as more smoke spills out. She can feel the heat of the metal tray through the oven gloves. The bird which was supposed to be a juicy dinner is charred black, way beyond being edible. She can't even toast her bread without burning it, fuck knows why she thought she could cook a proper meal.

She can feel his presence even though he's not said a word or made a sound.

"Don't even," she mutters dumping the bird in the trash and throwing the tray into the sink with a clatter. She kicks the oven closed and turns to look at him.

His lips are twitching up, for a moment there's a grin and she wonders if he knows how much it changes his face, chasing the mask of passivity away and making him look human. He pulls open a drawer, fishes a couple of menu's out and pushes them across the counter to her.

"Pizza or Thai?"

She guesses there are worse things than not being able to cook.


End file.
